Scar Tissue
by Jacqueline Albright-Beckett
Summary: Dean went to a lot of trouble to keep them hidden; long sleeves when he could manage it, refusing to forego an undershirt and boxers when he slept. It wasn't until the second week after they'd broken and fallen in the best way that Cas got to really see the mosaic of scars across Dean's body.


Dean went to a lot of trouble to keep them hidden; long sleeves when he could manage it, refusing to forego an undershirt and boxers when he slept. He even tended to pull his shirt back on when Cas was still collecting the scattered pieces of himself after sex, and while he never failed to gather Cas into his arms and hold him close, Cas still wished that the feeling of skin on skin was not something exclusive to the moments when they writhed against and inside one another.

It wasn't until the second week after they'd broken and fallen in the best way, when Dean had mischievously pulled Cas into the bathroom and started the shower, that Cas got to really see the mosaic of scars across Dean's body.

He'd known they were there, of course. Each one had left a spiritual imprint, even if Dean didn't know it, and Cas knew Dean's soul like the steps to an intricate dance: the specific memory was fading, but the shape of it was still there, and if Cas closed his eyes and concentrated he could still see it. And these were only the scars of the past few years; the dozens and dozens that had criss-crossed Dean's flesh before Cas had raised him from Hell had of course been repaired.

And Cas had done his best to heal whatever wounds Dean bore, back when he was still Castiel, and could call upon the grace of Heaven. Dean probably didn't know that, either, considering the regularity with which he was injured. The thought tugged at something in Cas's chest as he reached out to run one finger along a pale line above Dean's clavicle. He remembered healing this one. He'd apparently not done a very good job of it. Still, it was better than what he could offer now.

Dean looked down at where Cas was touching and swallowed, all lusty playfulness draining from his face. It was difficult to discern what Dean was thinking, his eyes clouded as they were, and when Dean reached up to remove Cas's hand from his shoulder Cas feared he'd overstepped some boundary. He knew Dean kept his scars covered. Perhaps acknowledging them wasn't something he should do.

But then Dean pulled Cas into the shower, and as the steaming water cascaded over them, he turned, rolling his shoulders and bowing his head.

"Stuff we fight isn't picky about where it can get you," was all he said, and then he was silent, giving Cas the quiet to study every detail.

There were more than thin silvery lines here. There was a puckered pink gash, just to the side of Dean's shoulder blade and almost under his arm; there was a series of rippled tears that were undoubtedly claw marks that stretched from Dean's spine all the way around to his side. A whole collection of discolorations and smooth, shiny shapes scattered themselves along Dean's legs and arms, and one line was beginning, in the heat, to show pink and livid just at Dean's hairline on the back of his neck.

Dean looked over his shoulder, then turned. The water had pressed his hair flat against his forehead, giving him a somehow vulnerable look. "You okay?"

Cas nodded.

Cas didn't have any scars. Not visible scars, at any rate; he was certain that his soul - he had one now, still an odd thing to consider - was more scar than spirit at this point. But his skin was still completely unbroken, and he suddenly felt almost ashamed of its purity. Dean had a warrior's body, a survivor's body, that he'd earned twice over. Cas had nothing of the sort.

"They're like badges," he said, the words sounding inappropriately poetic as soon as they left his tongue.

Dean snorted. "Yeah. Badges of stupidity." He ran a hand over his face to rid it of the water dripping from his hair. "This one's the time I didn't dodge fast enough. Here's the one when I turned my back to a vampire. And this one isn't even cool, this one is when I tripped over my own damn feet and barked my elbow on the edge of a desk." His lips twisted into a sardonic little grin. "Sam doesn't have nearly so many. He fights smarter. I just jump in and bull my way through. It's a dumb way to fight."

Cas reached out and rested his hand on Dean's shoulder, precisely where there had once stood Dean's first scar on his new body, a scar that Cas had inadvertently healed and was now sorry he had. It had been ugly, perhaps, but it had been a mark of approval rather than - as Dean apparently saw his other scars - a mark of failure.

Blinking as his eyes swept over Dean, the concept unfolding in his head struck Cas momentarily numb. "Is that why you cover them? You think they show how many times you've failed?"

Stricken, Dean looked down at himself. "What? No. Of course not." But his face said something else. Dean probably didn't realize how expressive his face was; right now it was falling, the brows lifting and the eyes widening, as the truth of the words Cas had put to this particular insecurity dawned on him. "I just don't like 'em."

They didn't speak on it any more. Dean reached out and drew Cas to him, the heat of the shower making his skin almost feverish against Cas's. The kiss felt forced, a desperate attempt to change the subject, but it was effective, and Cas let the subject go.

But that night, after Cas had peeled off Dean's shirt, he looked directly into Dean's eyes and instead of dropping it over the edge of the bed, purposefully balled it up and threw it across the room. At Dean's bemused expression, he leaned down, their chests brushing, and whispered into Dean's ear.

"Scars happen when we refuse to fail. And you are a stubborn son of a bitch."

Dean didn't retrieve his shirt; that night, he and Cas slept back-to-front, skin-to-skin. And a week later, as Sam sewed up a shallow knife wound across Cas's bicep, Dean appraised it and, with a smirk, ruffled Cas's hair. "Nice badge, Boy Scout."

Sam snorted, oblivious to the significance behind the exchange, but Cas looked up and behind Dean's eyes saw the deeper meaning of the words. Dean's smirk melted into something softer, and Cas matched it with a small smile of his own.

Cas could be every bit as stubborn as Dean.


End file.
